It Blows!
by Satinette
Summary: The Windy City blows ... in, um, more ways than one when a Cirronian doesn't know the language. A little look-see bit of fluff taking place shortly after the Pilot during Cole’s first few days on Earth. Rated for raunch.


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It Blows!

by Satinette

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The Windy City blows ... in, um, more ways than one when a Cirronian doesn't know the language. A little bit of fluff taking place shortly after the Pilot during Cole's first few days on Earth. Rated for raunch.

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"Cole! I _know_ this is only the second time you've ever been to Marshell Fields, but could you _please_ keep still and stop trying to look everywhere all at once?"

I was really trying to be very patient about it but I was becoming exasperated. That had been my third request. "I'm trying to determine if these will properly fit you," I again explained.

With obvious reluctance Cole reined in his curiosity at all the Human goings-on and the colorful, interesting sights around him in the men's clothing department of the department store and finally did as I'd asked, peering over his left shoulder at me as I held garment after garment up against his broad back to measure the fit.

"Damn! And I thought it was bad with _women's_ clothing!" I told him. "I swear, I'll never figure out how the clothing makers size these things. If you ask me, the size labels should be switched around. All those extra-large ones would be too tight through your shoulders but ... I'm pretty certain these three large-size shirts will fit you just fine with room to spare. And they're long enough, too."

I looked over to the closed and locked men's try-on room door and sighed with frustration. The sign on it still said _Closed for Renovations'_, just as it had a few days ago when we were here the first time. I'd purchased five shirts for him then — all sized extra-large — and had to return all of them.

I briefly considered having him try the shirts on right then and there in the aisle, then decided against it. The store wasn't at all crowded at this hour, but there certainly were shoppers around and his looks alone drew enough speculative attention. He didn't need any more.

And shirts weren't the only problem. So far, most of what I'd found that properly fit his slim waist and hips were of peddle-pusher length on him. The only successes of that first shopping trip had been the socks and the briefs.

"Feels strange," he commented, turning to finger the shirt's material.

"Strange? This one? Strange how?"

He nodded, struggling to find the proper word for what he wanted to say in the English language. "Scratch."

"Scratch? ... I'm not sure I know what..." Then I got it. "Oh! You find this fabric itchy?"

He tilted his head questioningly. "Is _it-chee_ ... scratch?"

I checked the label.

"Yeah, Cole. I guess it would make you itchy enough to scratch. It's rayon. And not particularly good quality rayon at that. Sorry. Poor choice. I'd find it kinda itchy myself."

I sighed again and tossed the shirt back onto the 80% Off' table.

"How about these two?" I then asked, holding up the last of the on sale' jerseys. "They're big and roomy — and they're both brushed cotton and really quite soft."

They also happened to be the most expensive of the sale shirts I rather ruefully noted, but Cole's skin seemed to be inordinately sensitive to the feel of fabric, prompting him to strip down to his briefs at almost every opportunity.

And in the four days he'd been with me he'd twice dispensed with the briefs as well.

While Jess is certainly thrilled by these heart-stopping free shows, I'm not. Or rather, I simply can't deal with how very unsettling (to put it mildly!) it is for my hormones seeing this extraordinary hunk of eye candy so unabashedly displayed _au naturale._

I've repeatedly lectured my new alien boarder' on the necessity of his having to wear clothes, but he just doesn't seem to fully understand. The entire concept is ... well, _alien _for him, I guess. From what I can gather from his fast improving but still halting English, Humans are the only species he knows of that wears clothing. If that's true, then sometime in the future our astronauts are going to be in for a big surprise!

"Is okay, Mel," he said as he fingered the material, "But I like that one there. Feels good."

I looked over to the mannequin Cole was pointing at and chuckled.

"You've got real expensive tastes there, Cole. That's a $470.00 sueded-silk shirt. It's gorgeous and would look absolutely fantastic on you but ... Sorry. I don't spend that kind of money on my _own_ everyday clothes so, no offense, I'm not about to spend it on _yours._"

I looped my arm in his to guide him to the one open register in evidence in the entire department.

"_Aww!_ Don't look so disappointed," I chided him. "I never buy anything unless it's on sale. If that shirt ever ends up as an 80% off, I'll get it for you. I promise."

He brightened at that and I laughed. "Just don't hold your breath."

"Hold my breath', Mel?"

"Another figure of speech," I told him as I placed the two shirts, the one pair of chinos I'd found, the packages of T-shirts, the sweats, the running shoes and the belt on the checkout counter/display case and began digging through my purse for my _Visa_ card. "It means that it isn't likely to happen any time soon or might not even happen at all."

"Oh." He looked downcast for a moment as he processed that information, but began to brighten again as he watched two young boys, perhaps four or five years old, playing let's-hide-from-our-mommies' beneath the closely-packed racks of clothing.

After a moment he wandered over for a closer look as I impatiently waited for the sales clerk to stop preening his hair, get off his cell phone and come over to ring me up.

And I waited.

And I waited.

"Excuse me," I finally called out to the clerk. "You have a paying customer waiting here."

He disdainfully swept his gaze over the items I'd placed on the counter, then turned his back on me and kept chitchatting on his cell phone.

Beginning to tap my foot in annoyance, I waited some more. Naturally, there was no floor manager anywhere in sight to report his lousy customer service.

Two more people came to stand behind me, two young women in their late teens or early twenties who had just finished shopping for a birthday gift for the really hot' boyfriend of the taller one. (And no, I wasn't eavesdropping! I just _happened _to be standing right there as they discussed his, um, attributes!).

Now the three of us were waiting.

And waiting.

The shorter of the two women then called out, "_Hey!_ When can we get some service here?"

The clerk arched a haughty, neatly plucked brow in her direction, then ignored her, filing his nails while still talking on his cell phone. (And they say we _women_ are bad! _Grrr!_).

The minutes ticked by as the three of us continued to wait.

And wait.

Finally I sensed Cole's tall bulk come over to stand beside to me.

"You are upset, Mel," he accurately picked up after a moment.

"Oh, I'm getting there pretty quick, Cole. I'm positive this clerk is deliberately ignoring us."

Cole studied the sales clerk for a moment, apparently accessing the situation.

"Excuse me?" his soft, oddly accented baritone politely called out.

The timbre of an obviously male voice finally made the sales clerk deign to turn around, then he stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping to his knees. His cell phone slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor in an unnoticed clatter as he blinked, then blinked again, his eyes getting all big and round and his suntan reddening, becoming overwhelmed by the sheer volume of blood rushing to his face. His mouth crooked in a smile that was more like a goofy, lopsided grin as he stared into Cole's gentle hazel-browns.

"_Oooooo ... yessss_, sir," he cooed in falsetto, his curled and mascara-ed lashes fluttering. "So _very_ sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. How may I _help_ you, sir?"

He half-minced, half-staggered over as if he'd forgotten how to walk, then nearly fell across the counter/display case. I'm sure he would've walked straight into Cole's arms if it hadn't been in his way.

Cole took a surprised half-step back and looked questioningly at me.

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"Sirrrrrrrrrr?" the man purred at him like a drunken cat.

I looked back and forth between the two of them, this fay and snooty but impeccably dressed men's department sales clerk, and the very masculine and friendly but bewildered alien thrift-shop refugee with the perpetually messy hair. Certainly Cole's looks alone invite attention from both men and women wherever we go. But to the best of my knowledge this was the first time _anyone_ had ever openly put the makes on him!

Behind us, the two young women had taken notice and were tittering to each other.

"I wish to purchase these," I said. "Could you please ring me up?"

The clerk groped, blindly gathering up the items without even looking down at them (or at me!) even once, his eyes locked on Cole. "Oh, of _course,_ sir... Yes, sir... Right _away,_ sir... Whatever you _say,_ sir... I'll never keep _you_ waiting again, sir..."

"Put it on my charge," I said, plucking my _Visa_ card down on the counter in front of him.

He paid me no notice at all, simply stood there staring slack-jawed at Cole.

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Omigod! Pass the 20-gallon drool bucket before he slobbers all over himself!

I finally grabbed his wrist and manually placed my card into his hand.

Tentatively, Cole graced him with a friendly smile.

Immediately the sales clerk began blithering, stammering over his words, all but panting.

"Is there anything else I can _show_ you, sir? Anything else I can _do_ for you, sir?.. Anything else you'd _like_ that is ... to see, I mean, sir?.. _Anything at all?.._ Sir?"

Cole just looked over at me in total befuddlement, seeking guidance.

The two young women were now openly guffawing.

Not that he even noticed. He was too busy leaning toward Cole from across the counter.

Cole took another half-step back, again looking over at me questioningly.

"Would you ... like to ... fill ... fill ... fill out ... an application for a ... store ... charge ... sir?"

The clerk seemed to be on the brink of an earth-shattering orgasm. From the breathlessness in his voice and from the way his slacks were tented, I wouldn't doubt it.

"No, thanks," I airily said, trying not to snigger. "Your interest rates are obscene."

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And your INTEREST is even MORE obscene, I thought.

This guy was clearly in heat and enacting one of the most embarrassingly lewd public displays of it I've ever seen in my life. And for one who's grown up in the bar she's now the proprietor of, that's saying quite a lot! He was making such a complete fool out of himself that it was very hard for me to keep a straight face.

The sales clerk slowly backed up to the register with his armload of garments to complete the sale, his slacks even more tented (if that were possible!), his eyes glued to Cole's face in total adoration.

I glanced behind me as the taller woman cleared her throat. She began to wildly bat her eyelashes, then deepened the pitch of her voice, turning it into a husky yet breathy whisper to say: "_Ohhhhh,_ sir! I'd do absolutely _anything_ for _you!_ How about I spread my cheeks for you right _here_ on the _floor,_ sir?" Or would you prefer I bend over the _countertop,_ sir? Perhaps you'd like to do me in the storefront _window,_ sir?"

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"Ohhhh!" the shorter one chimed in. "I know! Perhaps you would like me to give you a blow-job, sir?"

Then both said in sotto voice chorus, "_Ohhhhh, PUL-EEEZE let me give you a blow-job, sir!"_

His entire attention riveted solely on Cole, the clerk remained oblivious. But I was going seriously weak at the knees as laughter bubbled in me. I had to admit it was funny. Grossly raunchy, but funny.

The young women were both laughing, congratulating each other on their impromptu performance.

"Mel?" Cole innocently asked. "What's a blow-job?"

My laughter abruptly evaporated.

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"Cole!" I hissed. "We'll talk about this _later! _ In _private!_"

"Why?"

"Because ... It's just not something you talk about in _public!_"

"Why?"

"_Because!_ It ... It just isn't!"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Jess talks about ... blowing off people and ... blowing out candles ... and blowing up balloons and you ... both talk about your jobs..."

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"Cole!"

"...But how does one blow a job?"

"Would you just..."

"Why would I want a blow-job, Mel? Is it something good to eat?"

Overhearing all this, the two young women fell into each other's arms, helpless with laughter.

"Cole! Please! _Not now!_" I begged him through clenched teeth, feeling myself turning very red. "And keep your voice down! We'll talk about this later, okay? _In private!_"

"Yes, Mel," he agreed, lowering his voice to a near whisper. But before I could even sigh with relief he then asked, "Would Jess know what a blow-job is?"

"I have no doubt that she does, Cole," I tightly told him. "Now, would you _please_ just..."

"I'll ask Jess to show me what a blow-job is," he serenely said.

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"You'll do nothing of the kind!" I almost shrieked, starting to unravel at the thought.

I could just picture it. Jess would have him in the back room in a flash for a very complete and thorough demonstration. And that dopey little boy grin of his just might become his permanent expression.

"Oh." He cocked his head, considering a moment. "Then would you show me what a blow-job is?"

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"Not now!!!"

"Then later you'll show me what a blow-job is?"

"Cole! _Forget it!_ I'm NOT going to give you a blow-job!"

"Then would you like me to give you a blow-job, Mel?" He sweetly smiled at me. "I wouldn't mind."

By this point the two young women were virtually holding each other up, laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks. I just wanted to fall through the _floor!_

The sales clerk then came up and shoved a pen and the credit card slip at me to sign but still kept his attention fixated on Cole.

"Here you are, sir," he told him with a big simpering grin, handing Cole the shopping bag. "I folded everything very neatly for you. _And _with tissue paper!"

"Thank you," Cole politely responded, accepting the bag.

"My name is Keith."

"I am Cole."

"I'd be _very_ happy to teach you what a blow-job is, Cole," the guy told him.

In the middle of signing my name, the pen skittered right off the paper. I quickly looked over at Cole, not knowing what I should say or do. If anything. I mean, Cole _is_ an adult, after all!

All but salivating, the clerk reached over to stroke the back of Cole's hand with the tips of his fingers.

While Cole never objects or seems to in any way mind if I touch him, anyone else doing so seems to make him uncomfortable. Even Jess has somehow gotten that message and after a few attempts now keeps her hands to herself. I honestly don't think I imagined the ominous darkness that flashed for less than a millisecond in his eyes before it was immediately hidden beneath his gentle, almost childlike facade.

His brow again furrowing, Cole withdrew his hand beyond the man's reach, looked over to me, then over to the two young women who were breathlessly watching this little vignette play out. Although I still can't claim to know how that alien mind of his works, I do believe he then understood at least _something_ of what it was all about.

"No, thank you," he mildly replied with a very soft smile. "Mel will teach me anything I need to know."


End file.
